


a touch of darkness makes it more interesting

by Sineluce_Velius_Tristitia



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Newt Scamander, Dark!CinammonRoll!Newt, Don’t copy to another site, I mean it's more Dark-ish, M/M, Red Flag Newt (he's not in the spectrum but close to it), Theseus is a good brother okay, and continues through a bit of his Hogwarts days, because i like dancing on the edge of canon, but both movies will happen anyway, daddy lestrange is a major character that won't even appear????, hints to possible relationship (in which case it's going to be slash), i blame y'all grindelnewt shippers who reignited a flame in me, i forgot the word "angst", in that he uses dark magic but his character isn't too far from canon, like it diverges waaay before the movie, lmao what am i doing, maybe i should just put the summary in the tags, probably, this thing sort of starts when Newt is very young
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-09-29 07:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineluce_Velius_Tristitia/pseuds/Sineluce_Velius_Tristitia
Summary: That Dark!Newt Origins (haha I'm so funny aren't I) nobody asked for. Everything you need to know is in the tags.Or: Newt makes a different choice in his life.Cause and effect is severely overrated. Or underrated, depending on how you look at it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Haha! What is this? A new fic I probably won't finish? Y~eap, that's right folks! Welcome to another half-baked fanfic that was born of boredom in a 10 hour drive. Or, well, the few hours I actually spent sitting in front of my laptop and writing it.
> 
> This is plot without plot. lmao wat.

Newton Artemis Fido Scamander would never ever in his life choose to hurt anyone.

There was no lesson, no major life experience that taught him that. Newt remembers clinging to his mummy and fervently wishing her good things because she is so _nice_ and Newt loves her very much, remembers Thee reading him a bed time story when mummy and daddy couldn’t, remembers daddy patting his head in a way that makes warmth bloom in his stomach. He remembers family dinners spent in silent comfort because everyone but him and Theseus are so very tired after a day’s work.

The thing is; Newt grew up in the loving embrace of his family. And he knew, just as he knew he loved Theseus even though his brother spent a lot of time teasing him, that hurting anyone just wasn’t something he could ever choose to do.

Oh, he _can_ hurt them (as much as they can and have done, too) but Newt just wouldn’t go for that option. Especially not after mummy made him promise.

(Newt tries not to remember the cruel words, the painful blows, and the utter _fear_ and _helplessness_ that still made him wake up in cold sweat. He buries that feeling of triumph when his magic surged to protect him. Tries and tries to forget the satisfaction that curled in his gut at the fear in their eyes. _Newt isn’t helpless and weak and those muggles deserve—_

But he can’t.)

-0-

Creatures, Newt thinks, share his belief.

They are driven by their instincts, yes, but it isn’t in their nature to hurt other beings. When they do, it’s for food or when they are feeling threatened or when someone is being bad. These are bare necessities; not something they choose to do but something they _had_ to do.

Newt feels that they are kindred spirits. Maybe in the loosest, most basic definition of the term but it is in the company of the creatures that freely run through the forest that Newt feels drawn to.

More so when people (children his age, children Theseus’s age, mummy and daddy’s friends from the ministry) proved, time and time again, that creatures are better company than them.

In the forest with the creatures, there’s no cruel, condescending words. In the forest, there’s only the peaceful hum of the winds, the chirps and whistles of creatures of the wind and land, the distant sound of elks grazing in the nearby clearing.

It’s where Newt felt more at home in.

He loves mummy and daddy and Theseus but they are the few exceptions to Newt’s passive distance to human contact. He didn’t think he’d ever feel comfortable around other people.

-0-

Newt had always been a curious child.

Before he was old enough to be left alone for a few hours, he’d frolic around the gardens, getting mud and dirt all over himself.

On a memorable occasion, Newt had befriended—or rather, made himself tolerable to—a garden gnome by talking to it like he would another child and giving it the flower petals he had collected from under a particularly thorny bush.

Naturally, as he grew up, Newt’s curiosity only grew with him and developed into something more focused and organized though still unrefined. He started taking notes, writing down anything and everything he found out, even going so far as to drawing them even with his less than stellar skills (he would get better, Newt promises to himself).

He would sit on a tree branch for hours just to observe _everything_. Of course it was hard keeping track of everything all at once. And so Newt started focusing on smaller and smaller details. Like how the red-breasted pigeon would ruffle its feathers in a certain way to call another of its kind, how the small garden snake would hide the moment something disturbs it, how all animals seem to be fine with his presence but not with other humans.

It was exciting and _wonderful_. Even at a young age, Newt knew _this_ is what he would prefer to do for years and _years_. (And he wouldn’t be wrong. Just that he hadn’t quite grasped the implication what _this_ would actually do to him and for the Wizardng World in general.)

With his attention so focused on his discoveries, Newt almost didn’t notice the change taking place.

Too occupied with his excitement, Newt barely noticed the way his mum’s affection and fondness turned into a few pats on the head before hurrying off to the fireplace. Gone too long in the forests with his creatures that Newt didn’t even notice he barely saw his father’s face.

But, well, Theseus was there. Theseus listened to his stories patiently, complemented his drawings, pointed out mistakes on his notes (or just rewriting it for him because Newt’s handwriting is not entirely legible yet). Theseus took care of the wounds Newt gets whenever he became too careless and fell off his branch (or got too near a frightened creature), consoled him when Newt was unable to save an injured creature in time.

Newt didn’t notice the distance and tension blooming in their once close family.

Until the time came that Theseus had to attend Hogwarts.

-0-

Newt starts noticing it then.

In the platform with all the children and parents and their _caged_ animals, Newt wanted nothing else than to _leave_ and maybe scream in their faces that _they shouldn’t treat their pets like that_. But he didn’t because he was too overwhelmed by _everything_. The noise, the people—the shrieks and wails, the dread weighing down on his shoulders as his brother said his farewell, there’s just _too much_.

Newt clings to Theseus like a lifeline even as his brother coaxes him to let go.

“Come on, Newt, I have to go.”

Without opening his eyes, Newt shakes his head and tightens his grip. _Why do you have to go?_ Newt wanted to ask. But his throat closes each time he tries to get a word out.

He felt Theseus sigh before feeling himself get picked up with a soft grunt. “You’re getting too heavy for this, little one.”

Another pair of arms reaches for him and with sudden panic— _because it was wrongwrongwrong only Theseus ever touched him like that_ —Newt struggles and falls down. Scrambling with irrational fear, Newt hides behind Theseus and clings to the back of his robes.

He misses the look of shock on his father’s face, misses the guilt in his mother’s hitch of breath. What he focuses on is Theseus’s hand running through his hair in a comforting motion.

“I’m sorry,” Theseus sighs again, “I really have to go, Newt. But I’ll come back, don’t worry.”

Newt finally finds his voice, “F-for Yule?”

“Yes little one. I’ll come back.”

Newt lifts his head and sees his brother’s smile. “O-okay.” He ducks his head but doesn’t move away.

“You have to let go so I can leave.” Theseus mutters as he gently pries Newt’s hands away from it grip.

Reluctantly, Newt allowed himself to be pulled away. He drifts over to the side as Theseus hugs their mother and father. Without Theseus’s grounding touch, the noise was getting much too awful that Newt covers his ears.

The loud, shrill whistle of the train startled Newt so badly that he bolted into a run. He heard the shout for his name but he just kept running, digging his hands deep into his pocket where an emergency portkey always rested in case he ever got lost.

With the sickening feeling of a hook behind his navel, Newt disappears from the station and reappears in the receiving room of their house.

-0-

Newt spends the rest of the day curled up inside a tree hollow he used when the rain got too bad. There’s a bowtruckle guarding the tree but didn’t mind it when Newt takes refuge in it from time to time.

Right now Newt feels so angry and lonely and fearful and _left behind_ because Theseus left and Newt ran away and his mother and father must be really worried. He felt _awful_. But his limbs refused to respond when he tries to crawl out. He’s shaking so badly and he’s crying so much and he just feels _pathetic and_ _weak and undeserving of anything_ —

At the end of the day, when the skies turn dark and the wind blows colder, Newt returns home with the bowtruckle anxiously tugging at his hair and chirping agitatedly.

When he enters the house, the walls, somehow, enclose around him uncomfortably.

More than anything, it felt empty.

There’s a note in the dining room which Newt ignores, already knowing what it contains. Mother and father are rarely home during dinner or any other meal for that matter. Theseus made sure he eats something every time.

But Theseus wasn’t there.

Another pang of loneliness hit him (and a very small part twisted in anger and betrayal).

In a bid to get past the heaviness in his chest, Newt padded over and picked up the note.

_We’re sorry, Newt, the ministry called_ —

Newt crumples the parchment and throws it in the bin much more harshly than he usually did. He understands why their parents are busy. Theseus had explained to him that being an Auror will always make their father busy, that working as one of the ministry’s researchers would make their mother in high demand.

He’d accepted that. Even though Newt is sometimes disappointed, he accepted it. Because Theseus was there and it wasn’t so bad.

But Theseus wasn’t there.

Newt can’t even convince himself it would be better.

-0-

Adaptability is a quality Newt learned to possess.

In the weeks that passed, Newt wasn’t even sure when his mother and father came home. He barely saw them before but now it seems like they don’t even come home anymore.

And when they do, mother always scolds him for being out too long. Newt just nods and shuffles away, hiding behind his hair so that he doesn’t have to look at them and see the anger in their eyes. Her hugs left his muscles taut with tension.

Theseus sent letters at least once a week, always asking how he is and Newt sends some of his notes to his brother. He gets them back with a few notes on the side. The library at Hogwarts didn’t have much in the way for creatures but Theseus sends him what he could find.

It was enough and for a while, Newt was happy that Theseus still cares about him.

Then the letters start skipping for more days than Newt was used to.

At first, Theseus writes his apologies, saying that he had been busy. That was a behavior Newt was intimately familiar with. _Busy_. And Newt knew better than to use a single experience as basis for anything so he doesn’t dwell on the worry and anger and fear.

But the gaps between letters become longer.

The letters contained more apologies than anything.

_It hurt._

Newt decided that he shouldn’t bother Theseus anymore.

Obviously, he had more important things to do than entertaining Newt’s childish whims.

-0-

Yule came and Theseus came back like he said he would.

Newt spends it shying away from Theseus’s affectionate hugs and lying through his teeth to say he was fine.

Instead, he kept the bowtruckle company in his little tree hollow. Little creatures nestle there with him, reveling in the heat in the otherwise cold winter.

Newt didn’t come to the station when it was time for Theseus to go back to Hogwarts.

-0-

The years between Newt’s and Theseus’s birth was not really big in number but still larger than, say, the Weasleys. So when Newt finally attends Hogwarts, Theseus is already in his sixth year and didn’t have time to babysit his little brother.

The little hope in Newt that attending Hogwarts would somehow be _better_ died when even his own housemates ( _Hufflepuffs_ who are _hardworking and loyal_ ) approached him with something like condescension when he spoke of his creatures.

_Adapt_ , Newt thinks, promises, _curses_.

So he kept his mouth shut, head down, and withdrew even more to himself.

-0-

At school, he did well and he didn’t do well.

The studying part was easy. Whenever Newt chooses to focus on something, he makes sure to do his best. He wasn’t top of the class but he wasn’t at the bottom either. He could be at the top but he has an ingrained sense of discomfort in garnering attention.

Human attention, he knew well, was unpleasant. They tend to see you for your mistakes and rarely for the good things you do. They look at Newt and see how easy it is to put him down.

It was the part where he needs to make positive human contact that made his days at Hogwarts uneasy. Everyone is judging and selfish. The purebloods act entitled to everything, muggleborns are both fearful and driven and somehow even more prejudiced than the purebloods, halfbloods tend to be either or the extreme.

Newt has never done well in socializing. Something about him tends to annoy people.

At least the Slytherins didn’t deem him to be worth their while.

-0-

Newt sort of drifted.

So used to having his own time in his hands, Newt had to put extra effort in attending classes on time. Navigating through Hogwarts wasn’t an issue, the house elves were more than happy to give him directions when asked nicely.

Sometimes he would bump into Theseus and they would talk. Mainly, Theseus would talk and Newt would nod as if he understood. Then they would part ways and Newt was left to rub at his chest where an ache would always emerge whenever he sees Theseus walk away from him.

He spent most of his time in the kitchens where he could ask the elves all sorts of stuff. Like how Peeves the poltergeist would leave you alone if you threaten to call the Bloody Baron, how if you are sensitive enough to magic you can feel Hogwarts’ magic, how the forbidden forest contains many dangerous creatures.

And—

Yes, Newt ends up sneaking into the forbidden forest more times than he had earned house points.

-0-

Leta Lestrange is an odd person.

That suited Newt just fine because he was odd himself.

They weren’t quite friends but they are closer than acquaintances. _Outcasts tend to befriend outcasts_. That was probably the best way to describe their relationship. Newt knew better than to assume that simply because Leta hangs out with him means that they are friends.

But Newt was happy enough that _someone_ finally stops to give him more than a few minutes of their day without feeling like he was being a bother.

It didn’t really matter that Leta came from a known Dark family.

(When Theseus found out, his letters coming once a month like clockwork as he trained to become an Auror, he just about exploded at Newt as if he had the right to dictate who Newt should befriend. When their father found out, he had calmly asked Newt if he was sure.

But Newt wouldn’t abandon his not-friend. Not when years of loneliness built up into a gaping hole that was absolutely starved for positive attention from his peers. Because even though he has his creatures, Newt still needed _human_ contact.)

-0-

The news comes in an abrupt manner.

Professor Dumbledore was in the middle of a lecture when Theseus enters the room.

Dumbledore blinks and continues as if nothing out of the ordinary happened; the only thing that gave it away was when he addressed the intruder, “Yes Mr. Scamander?”

Newt caught Theseus’s gaze before his brother turns his attention back to the professor. “I’m sorry Professor but could I have a moment?”

There was a pause before Dumbledore inclines his head in agreement and pushes away from his desk. When the doors closed behind the two adults, murmurs started as students speculated what could be happening.

Newt stays in his corner, silent.

A few minutes passed before the doors opened. Immediately, the room was drenched in silence as Dumbledore strides back to his desk, mouth pressed into a thin line. Newt looks up and sees the professor staring at him but before he could analyze the look even more, there was a tap on his shoulder.

Theseus stood behind him, face a practiced blank that Newt knew entailed something bad.

“Let’s go.”

Without question, Newt packs his bag and follows his brother outside.

-0-

Nobody says it outright but Newt was almost certain he knew what happened.

Theseus brings them to the manor and asked him to stay there while he arranges some things. Newt spent the afternoon agitatedly tending to the garden and not venturing too far into the woods.

When Theseus comes back it was a whirlwind of meeting with people from the ministry and signing papers Newt barely managed to read before it was replaced by something else. When they go to Gringotts for a Will reading, Newt was certain why he had suddenly been pulled out of Hogwarts.

Their parents were dead. Killed in a crossfire between muggles. Somehow, Newt didn’t believe that. Neither did Theseus. But they can’t do anything; everyone insists that that was what happened.

With Newt being too young to be emancipated, Theseus receives guardianship over him. No one would ever take a twenty year old seriously, especially one that is still under Auror training.

A week after being unceremoniously pulled out of Hogwarts, Newt returns to the immense scrutiny of his peers.

He attends classes as if nothing happened, unwilling to change his status quo as someone uninteresting. Apparently, his teachers thought differently. Whenever he meets their eyes, they shine with poorly hidden pity. They put more attention to him than normal, as if he had always been someone they paid more than passing attention to.

Newt disliked it.

-0-

One day, Professor Dumbledore asked him to stay after class.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Scamander.” He said it with true sorrow, expression pinched in a way that seemed genuine. Like he understands the death of a loved one.

But Newt had long since grown distant from his parents. Memories of warmth and affection faded and muddled and buried underneath sadness and loneliness and guilt that petered off into numbness. Years of being left alone, of knowing there’s something that matters more than you. He wasn’t angry. He hadn’t begrudged his parents. Newt has—

“I—” Newt ducks his head, unable to meet his professor’s eyes, “I’ve accepted it.” _That I don’t matter. That there are more things far more important than who I am. That they died when I don’t even know them anymore._

A hand falls on his shoulder and Newt tensed. It stays there but Dumbledore doesn’t talk. Eventually, Newt raises his head to see the older wizard smiling rather ruefully.

“Then you’ll be happy to know what pulls the carriages to Hogwarts.”

Completely thrown off by the odd response but realizing what Dumbledore was saying, Newt made a noise of surprise and excitement, “ _Thestrals?_ The carriages are pulled by _thestrals?_ ”

Dumbledore nods and pats his back. “Now Mr. Scamander, I believe you don’t have any more classes after this? Run along now. Do send my regards to Mr. Ogg.”

Newt grins in gratitude, “Thank you, professor.”

_Of course._ He should have known they were _thestrals._

-0-

In the whirlwind of whispers following him along the corridors, it is Leta who becomes his reprieve.

She remains her normal caustic self and isn’t afraid to cast _silencio_ at the next bloke who corners Newt to… Newt actually didn’t know what they wanted with him. Maybe to taunt him, maybe to ask questions, maybe to say cruel words that Newt had grown used to, maybe to express pity and mock sympathy.

Nonetheless, it had been annoying Leta enough that she intervened.

She doesn’t give him false platitudes, doesn’t give him a look of pity. She just remained there, his not-friend-but-maybe-friend and tries to make nice with his creatures.

Sometimes Newt thinks she wanted to say something. It was in the way her eyes darken, in the way she grew distant before opening her mouth and closing it.

In the end, her only words of consolation had been a whispered, “I understand…I think.” And that was that.

Newt wonders if she does at the same time as he wonders what she might have been talking about. Leta is such a strange creature but Newt had become fonder of her for it.

-0-

On hindsight, Newt should have realized that this time would come.

It was summer and even if Newt would have preferred to stay at Hogwarts to avoid the empty walls of their manor, it simply wasn’t possible. He’d spent his summer holidays in the past years staying out in the woods more than inside the house. It was only in the rare occasion that Theseus visited that Newt admits himself into the enclosed space.

Now, Theseus had no choice but to come home at the family house instead of his apartment at the heart of London. The apartment was only big enough to house one person and apparently Newt cannot be left alone with house elves or else they would get in trouble with the department in charge of children’s welfare.

As if Newt hadn’t spent more years alone in the house than with an adult figure.

So here they are, sitting opposite each other with a table laden with tea and biscuits. Newt fiddled with his cup while Theseus stared down at the table thoughtfully. The silence between them is filled with discomfort.

Theseus, possessing lesser patience than Newt does, gives up the pretence and breaks the silence, “How is Hogwarts?”

It’s a weak topic, as far as starting a conversation goes but Newt shrugs and sips on his cup, “Fine.”

Another silence engulfs them. It’s awkward. Maybe a different rejoinder would have been better. Newt had never been good at keeping up a flow of conversation. But before Newt could open his mouth, Theseus lets out an aggravated sigh and sets down his cup with a clink that put Newt on edge.

“Look, Newt I…” Theseus drags in a deep breath, rubs a hand over his face, and rests his elbows on his knees. When Newt looks up, Theseus has a grim expression on his face, lips pulled down in a not quite frown. “I’m sorry this happened. I- mum and dad- I don’t know how to say this. I know we’ve…drifted apart but- we care- _they_ cared for you. I care for you. Mum and dad loved you and seeing how you reacted—” Theseus seems to deflate. “I’m sorry.”

It’s guilt, Newt realizes.

Once, long ago, Newt had been angry at all of them. Had resented them for making him feel alone. But anger and resentment were such ugly, _ugly_ things that swallowed everything in its wake. Newt had been so young when they had all started to drift apart. He hadn’t really understood why it was happening. Confusion turned into anger that quickly turned into fear and resignation.

After all, who else was there to blame but himself?

Hadn’t those muggles been right in the end? That he’s weak and a burden. That what his parents are giving him is pity and not love.

Newt didn’t want to choose to hurt anyone. But that _anyone_ didn’t include himself.

“It’s- it’s okay,” Newt says, head ducked in a way that his fringe covered his view of his brother. “None of that was your fault.”

“ _It is!_ ” Startled, Newt raises his gaze enough to see his brother— _who has never allowed anyone to see his vulnerable side, who has worked hard to maintain an image of pride and quiet power_ —flushed in disbelief and anger and shame, dark eyes glistening with _tears_. “Why can’t- why won’t you blame _me?_ Why won’t you show your anger at us? At me? I know what you’d been feeling. I _knew_ how lonely you felt when you come back home with your notes on little creatures and mum and dad weren’t even home to see it. I knew I made the largest mistake in my life when I stopped sending you letters just because you did.”

Suddenly, Theseus is right in front of him, knelt down so that Newt has no other choice but to look him in the eye.

“You’re all I have left, little one.”

Things happened much too fast for either of them to react. Theseus reaches out to touch his face but Newt was too high strung and overwhelmed that his magic reacted without his say so. There was a painful spark and Newt pushed his brother away.

Breathing heavily, blood pounding against his ears, and the remnant shock of his accidental magic clouding his mind, Newt managed a garbled noise at the back of his throat before he fled.

-0-

Out in the forest, Newt shakily pens a letter that he ties at a stray raven’s foot.

“Come on, love,” Newt croons as his trembling hands ran through the raven’s feathers, “Get this to Leta Lestrange. You know where to find her.”

The raven nipped at his finger painfully in acceptance. Newt doesn’t wince, used to how certain creatures tend to overestimate human skin.

He watches it flutter its wings before taking off into the sky.

A chirp distracted him from staring off into space.

Newt smiles at the bowtruckle whose leaves twitched in a way that he interpreted as worried. “I’m fine. I just need… to get my mind off things.”

A disbelieving chirrup and the bowtruckle stomps over the branch Newt perched on and climbs up his clothes to stand on his shoulder. It grabs at his hair to steady itself before reaching out to touch his cheek. Its limb comes away wet and it studies it curiously.

“Oh.” Newt wipes at a damp cheek. “I suppose I’m crying.” Then, he says to the bowtruckle, “Those are tears. The human body makes them when it’s stressed, like when they’re upset or…sad.”

A curious chirp.

“I think I am.” Newt touches at his chest where the familiar heavy feeling settled. Now that he acknowledged it, his eyes warm and a fresh wave of tears streamed down his face.

He feels a tug at his hair and Newt glances down to see the bowtruckle licking at his cheek. He chuckles and even to his ears, it sounded like a broken little thing. “Don’t do that, I don’t think that’s good for you.”

-0-

> _Newt,_
> 
> _I understand your need for space. Father has expressed his permission to welcome you into the family home. Don’t feel obligated to come; we can communicate just as well through letters or the floo network. If you must know, it’s only my father and I walking about the manor._
> 
> _Attached to this letter is our floo address._
> 
> _I ask you to consider this greatly. Our family is not known to have a good reputation. In the event that you do accept the invitation, do not tell anyone that you are going to the Lestrange family home._
> 
> _Regards,  
>  Leta Lestrange_

 

This is the first time he and Leta had exchanged letters.

Newt was slightly disappointed at himself that the first non-family member he had sent a letter to ended up having to read a hastily scribbled cry for help. Especially since the issue wasn’t really big enough to deserve it.

Him and Theseus might be having some problems (one that both brothers didn’t know how to solve on their own and one which has caused unneeded tension to pervade their life living under the same roof; thank Merlin Theseus was kept busy by his auror training) but that doesn’t mean that Newt can just go and bother his only maybe-friend about it. That had been such a selfish decision on his part.

Nonetheless, Newt was warmed to know that Leta had cared enough to go against proper pureblood etiquette—no matter how much they ignore it, they are of opposite sex and their contact with each other could be deemed inappropriate by some of the more elitist families, of which Lord Lestrange teeters on the borderline of—and asked _her father_ for aid. Lord Lestrange is known to be an unpleasant and formidable man; vicious enough to gain a reputation but cunning enough to still be running free. Even Leta, though she never said it out loud, was afraid of him. And she went ahead and asked for _permission_ for Newt to stay with them for a bit.

Newt wasn’t so blind to the political machinations happening in their world that he doesn’t recognize what her letter actually meant. Leta may have assumed him clueless but with a family closely tied to the ministry, Newt knows _things_.

As it is right now, Newt has two choices.

One is that he will ignore Leta’s attempt at help and continue on with living with Theseus and walking on eggshells throughout the summer break, possibly offend Lord Lestrange by brushing off his offer to open the Lestrange family home in a show of (assumingly) goodwill, and lose a maybe-friend in the process. Lord Lestrange is not a man to displease in any way.

The other is to risk his life by accepting the invitation and submitting himself to whatever game Lord Lestrange is playing. Plus, having to find an excuse to say to Theseus.

Newt absently scratched a kneazle behind its ear, smiling as it purred in contentment and nuzzled into his lap. Its fur was a beautiful mix of splotched colors, dirt and grime from its time running in the mud brushed away earlier.

The letter is neatly folded in a pocket, never leaving Newt’s presence in the last few days after he received it.

“What do you think?” Newt asked of the bowtruckle fussing about the tree beside him.

The bowtruckle chittered for a few moments, cleaning out splinters of dead wood and picking away at woodlice to eat, before jumping down a branch and landing on Newt’s head.

It chirped and tugged on his hair.

“I guess so.” Newt sighed. “Theseus is barely home anyway.”

He’d just have to spend some time brushing up on his knowledge of pureblood etiquette.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Timeskip, canon probably rewritten, Newt & Leta, Theseus & Newt, and a war.
> 
> Warnings for violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously didn’t expect this to be multi-chaptered but here we are. Let’s skip a few years because I’m too lazy to write everything lmao. I'm very sorry to disappoint those who wanted to see daddy lestrange in action. I just dislike constructing characters that I don't own and know??? Ya get what I'm sayin'? So we'll go by what JK has revealed of daddy lestrange which is... actually, nothing and at the same time something.
> 
> So going by that:  
> Daddy Lestrange is a mix between Lucius Malfoy and, say, Severus Snape. A ponce, pureblood elitist, good at stuff he knows, crazy af, and has a soft spot for whoever he deems worthy (which, sadly, Leta isn't one). Anyway, like the tags say, he's a major character who won't appear.

 

“Endangering the lives of fellow students is more than a cause for concern, Albus. As soon as the news reaches the ears of the Board of Governors—which I am certain will happen, we cannot contain such an incident—they will demand us, me, to take action. To expel the one responsible. Hogwarts is supposed to be a safe place for students, not a _menagerie_ _for dangerous beasts_.”

Newt barely restrains a flinch at the words that came out of the headmaster’s mouth.

Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black is easily the most intimidating man in the castle. He is also one of the most ruthless headmasters to have graced Hogwarts. Not to say that he is unjust but he tends to favor the pureblooded than those of muggle blood, the Darker than Lighter families. Had Newt not been a Scamander, he wouldn’t have had a chance to have this kind of inquisition. Straight into the gallows, it would have been.

They were in the headmaster’s office, Albus Dumbledore standing right beside Newt and arguing against the headmaster for what had felt like hours. The portraits of the previous headmasters had long since stopped joining in the conversation when it became apparent that the two men were too absorbed in regurgitating words of the same meaning over and over again in different phrases.

Though it seems as if the headmaster’s patience had run thin already, causing him to be more blunt in his wording and highly agitated in tone. Albus Dumbledore, on the other hand, remains with an air of calm reasoning. Something Newt highly appreciated, drawing from the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor’s tranquility.

Newt cannot afford to show weakness right now.

_‘Up, boy! No one will ever take you seriously acting like a frightened animal!’_

He hid his trembling hand and stood up straighter. Anxiety mounted with every second that ticked by but Newt remained still and silent.

“It is but one creature, headmaster,” Dumbledore reasoned for at least the third time in the span of their argument. “A jarvey is hardly a danger to anyone besides their sensibilities. An isolated case of having a harmless creature loose should not be enough to condone the expulsion of a student. Mr. Scamander has already told us what happened and it is quite clear that he is not at fault here.”

“A _creature_ that has attacked one of our students!” The headmaster nearly shouted. “It is uncontrollable and wild. There _is_ a reason why students are only allowed owls as their pet. Mr. Scamander has broken that rule and knowingly harbored a _creature_ that should not have been inside the castle in the first place. _I_ cannot condone such an act without punishment.”

“Then free the creature—send it off into the Dark Forest. Neutralize it if you must.” Dumbledore sighed, the very first sign of his tiredness in the argument. “But you cannot expel a _pureblooded_ _student_ for something he is not responsible for.”

“ _No!_ ”

Newt jerks back, quickly turning his gaze back down onto the floor. He _should have kept his mouth shut_. The plan had been to let professor Dumbledore do the talking. But he cannot let them- _neutralize_ an innocent creature. He’d done a lot of things, but this isn’t something he’d ever be able to stomach.

“And what do you have to say for yourself, boy?” Headmaster Black’s voice oozed antipathy. “It is your- _creature_ that has caused this. Attacking a Carrow, no less.”

The headmaster’s imploring gaze was not new to him, even the disdain and almost casual disregard to his opinion. It’s familiar and Newt has learned how to let it slide through him, lest he get into trouble.

But this isn’t Lord Lestrange. He isn’t in the Lestrange family home with a man strangely tolerant of him and Leta sending him narrow eyed looks even as they—

“I-” Newt chews on his lips and peeked behind his fringe to the headmaster’s expectant stare. “I’m sorry, headmaster. The- jarvey escaped from its cage when I was on my way to –ah, set it free into the forest. It must have grown agitated when I had bumped into Ms. Carrow. Jarveys are quite intelligent, you see, and I’m afraid the lock must have loosened. They were- practicing unlocking spells when I passed by.”

The jarvey, in fact, had suffered through quite a number of things already. Newt _had_ been trying to keep it as healthy as possible until it grew- _useless_ , really, shouldn’t be the word but it was the closest he can get. Leta had become more aggressive than usual and didn’t take proper precautions.

“Yes, and where did you get that creature in the first place, Mr. Scamander?”

_Ah,_ “The Forbi- Dark Forest has always had a variety of creatures.” A non-answer that was true nonetheless.

“It seems to me that there is nothing more to discuss here, headmaster,” Professor Dumbledore iterated. “Mr. Scamander’s story coincides with what Ms. Carrow’s friends had told us. It had been an accident. No student, especially not Mr. Scamander, had been responsible. An unfortunate turn of events, I say.”

“Ariadne Carrow had suffered more injuries than a simple jarvey could have done.” Headmaster Black stated calmly after a moment of silence, “I cannot let this incident pass without having someone to blame. Lord Carrow will be out for blood once news travels to him. As headmaster of this school, it is my duty to maintain the peace and assure the safety of each _human_ individual that passes through its halls. Expulsion is the most forgiving option for Mr. Scamander at the moment.”

A feeling of dread pooled at his gut and sweat started to gather at his palms. This isn’t- _good_. But it’s better. Ultimately better than having Leta in the current position he is in. Theseus won’t be happy. Lord Lestrange would be- absolutely _furious_.

Newt started thinking of a list of things he could do in order to hide. They were trying to start a dragon reserve up in Romania. Last time he heard, they needed funding and actual _dragons_ to help. Newt can work there.

“Isn’t that such a radical way of thinking?” Professor Dumbledore continues, sending a reassuring squeeze on Newt’s shoulder. “We are a few months from the end of term; a few months before the seventh years graduate.”

Or he can travel all over the world, discover new creatures and fauna.

Headmaster Black narrows his eyes. “And what are you insinuating, Albus?”

“I will take full responsibility over the perceived slight should Lord Carrow press for retribution.”

Newt felt that his gasp of surprise was completely reasonable. In fact, even the headmaster’s eyes widened a fraction.

“I believe Mr. Scamander is not deserving of the- punishment you have in mind.” Professor Dumbledore said it with such conviction that Newt had to swallow down his guilt. “He has only ever shown compassion for his fellows and a drive to learn more about what he feels is a neglected subject. It would be a cruelty to hold his education above his head for something he did not commit.”

There was a beat of silence where even the portraits of the previous headmasters seemed to hold their breath.

“Bloody Gryffindors.” Headmaster Black finally mutters half exasperated and half disapproving, his words breaking the tense silence. “Then so be it. But the creature must be dealt with, one way or another.”

Relief flooded through Newt’s veins and only professor Dumbledore’s guiding hand made it possible for him to exit the office.

-0-

Professor Dumbledore led him to the empty Defense Against the Dark Arts lecture hall.

Students had whispered and stared as they made their way through the large castle. News travels fast for a school with less than half a thousand living occupants; though it is probably because of the non-living occupants that gossip spreads like wild fiendfyre all over the school. Only Merlin knew if the gossip is true.

Newt had caught Leta’s eyes from where she lurked behind a gaggle of students. The fact that she quickly walked away into the opposite direction greatly disheartened him. It was enough to have cold fear and dread replace the dazed relief in his blood.

“Would you like a cuppa?”

Newt startles from his thoughts, only now registering that they are seated. A steaming pot of tea hovered right in front of him, poised right above a cup that sat on a low table Newt hadn’t noticed before. They are at the front of the room where the professor’s desk sat. Baubles and knick knacks cluttered the side of the desk where there aren’t neatly stacked parchment blocking the way.

Professor Dumbledore raises an eyebrow in question.

“Ah,” Newt mutters and ducks his head, flustered. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

“I must ask,” Professor Dumbledore began as the pot finished its job, floating back down the tray. A display of wandless magic, one of the many Newt had observed over the years. Dumbledore is not a man to trifle with. “What made you defend Ms. Lestrange in such a way?”

Newt blinks into his cup, fidgeting with the rim. “I don’t- I don’t know what you mean, sir.” That was such an ungrateful answer, especially when the man has very well saved him from being _expelled_. Newt cringed.  “I’m sorry.”

“I understand how much friendship means to someone who only has very few, Mr. Scamander,” said Dumbledore, tone oddly wistful, “It’s a treasure so rarely seen as what it is. Friendship, acceptance, understanding, _love_ … these are precious and incredibly fragile. It’s no wonder some tend to horde them- some crave it so much they are blinded from what they could have seen.”

Newt frowns, mind whirling and analyzing what was said. When it clicks, Newt puts down his cup and stares at his professor in mild indignation.

“I am grateful for what you have done, professor.”  Newt struggles to find the words but manages to say it without stuttering. “But I- _know_ what I’m doing. I am not blinded nor being led on. I am certain that what I did was not a- _mistake_ in any way.”

They stare at each other; Newt in challenge and conviction, Dumbledore in an analyzing way and a glint in his eyes that Newt couldn’t read. He wasn’t great in occluding his mind but Newt had enough experience to know it wasn’t legilimency.

“No, I guess it wasn’t.” Dumbledore conceded with a wry smile. “I didn’t intend my words to anger you, Newton. For that, I apologize.”

Newt broke eye contact, ducking his head. “No I- it wasn’t my place. I’m sorry, professor. But I can’t just- stand anyone accusing Leta of- of _something_ she didn’t do. The Lestrange family is Dark, yes, but that doesn’t mean they are- _evil_.”

“And if you meet someone who wishes nothing but pain for others,” Dumbledore mutters, an odd infliction in his voice that made the indignation in Newt dissipate, “Who looks at people like objects they could use and discard as they will, who would bring about suffering to get what they want… someone truly _evil_ … what would you do, Mr. Scamander?”

The professor looked almost… _vulnerable_. Newt rubs his hands over his knees and chews on his lip, feeling that whatever he says would change _something_.

_‘If you cannot lie, use your candor to your advantage! Do not pour you heart out and do something equally as foolish as to say what you know they would not hear.’_

“No one can be truly evil,” Newt finally said, only continuing when Dumbledore doesn’t make a move to cut him off. “Evil is… without reason. And humans always have a reason for everything. I don’t see why I should judge someone when many have already done so.”

His entire life had been made harder than it should have been by preconceived notions that had little thought put into it. Creatures, for example, are thought to be dangerous simply because no one tried to understand them. It was an unacceptable reason in Newt’s eyes.

“If they hurt you?”

Newt pauses, thinks of Leta walking away and the fear and dread that crept into his veins, thinks of Theseus and his parents, thinks of the muggle children whose words still stuck to him like a vivid dream.

“I will forgive them.”

Dumbledore looks at him with something akin to wonder, lips tilted in a self-depreciating way that shouldn’t belong in the powerful wizard’s face. “You are one of a kind, Mr. Scamander. Never lose that.”

Newt chokes down something dangerously close to resentment and guilt, unsure if his words had been the truth or a lie. Instead, he sips on his tea and basked in the not uncomfortable silence between them.

-0-

Newt finds Leta near the tree at the Black Lake.

Her robes sprawled out behind her haphazardly, chin tucked between her arms and legs pressed close to her chest. A position unbefitting of someone with her upbringing. A position, Newt remembers, that she adopts when in distress. Something she’d only done a handful of times, once when she saw her greatest fear and once when Newt took her father’s anger onto himself.

_This isn’t the first time Newt took the blame for her._

Instead of making his way immediately to her, Newt strides over to the tree and coos his greeting to the bowtruckles dwelling in it. One hops over to his outstretched hand and climbs up to his head, chirping and clicking away happily. Newt hums, already feeling his unease slipping away as the bowtruckle rearranged his hair the way it liked.

“I heard what they were saying.”

Newt freezes.

“That you are going to be expelled.” Leta doesn’t turn to face him and Newt doesn’t look away from the tree. “Is that true?”

The giant squid dwelling in the lake took that moment to writhe just beneath the surface, its movements creating gentle ripples with a soft slosh. Newt slowly turns but keeps his gaze on the lake.

“No,” He said in a whisper, uncertain and wrong-footed. “I’m not going to be expelled.”

“Oh.” Leta muttered, equally as wrong-footed. She uncurls from her position but doesn’t stand up. Their eyes met, briefly, before Newt looked away and shuffled over to seat down beside her.

The silence is awkward, both not knowing what to say around each other. Newt couldn’t help but feel that _this_ had been some sort of misstep in their relationship. Him, hurt and betrayed from the way she had been ready to—and _did_ —pull away; her, in being caught doing such a thing in a poorly made judgment.

Their friendship is strange. They care for each other but not in the way most would have assumed. Newt would do everything he could to protect her and in her own, twisted way, Leta would as well. There’s resentment and envy but there are no secrets between them. In Leta’s eyes, Newt knew too much. But he is loyal and has proven, time and time again, that he would never betray her.

“I think we should go our separate ways,” She said. “I- I’ve done enough.” Leta doesn’t look at him but Newt could read her enough to know the wobble in her voice is _wronganddoesn’tbelong_. “I can’t just keep on making you deal with my mistakes. I can’t keep on watching you take the blame, take the attention away from me even though it’s _my fault_.”

“They were going to _expel you_ ,” She continued after a beat of silence, her voice softening in fury and misery and guilt. “I could have destroyed your _life_ , Newt. This isn’t- this isn’t just about me and my father. This had been about _your future_. And do you know what’s bad about that?”

Leta meets his eyes but Newt _can’t_ because he knows what she’s going to say and he doesn’t want to hear it coming from her. “I would have let them. I would have left you without a word. I would have let you become bitter. So I think I- I’ve done enough.”

She reached out and touched his cheek. “You’re too good, Newt. Even for my father.” Then she plants a kiss on his forehead. “Don’t let anyone abuse you like I did. You deserve better than that.”

-0-

Newt sort of drifts again.

With only a few months left before the end of the year and, therefore, their last and final exam as students of Hogwarts, his year mates are a flurry of studying and revising.

It’s good. It keeps his mind off of things.

Every now and then, professor Dumbledore asks him for tea and Newt accepts, feeling that he owes the professor as much. They talk of inconsequential things, not touching on deep strange subjects like they did the first time. Mostly, Newt gets to talk about his creatures while the professor offers his own knowledge about them.

Lord Carrow did come to Hogwarts once he heard the news but doesn’t do anything other than show up, have a short talk with his daughter, and then leave. In this, Newt was reminded of Leta and her own father but doesn’t dwell on it too deeply, the sting of _hurt_ still too new.

They still see each other in the corridors and classes they shared. Newt tries to catch her eyes every time but she ignores him. Her words had been clear but he can’t just- he can’t just _believe_ that he could lose her like that. Like it had been so easy and simple and settled in one conversation Newt had been unable to speak his mind.

Like _years_ of friendship suddenly didn’t exist.

Like _Newt_ didn’t exist.

_It hurt_.

But he’s no child whose naivety would let him dictate his actions. He isn’t the child who let _hurt_ and betrayal fester until it grew into apathy and resentment. He’d known in some way that something like this could happen.

Humans are fickle. They are cruel and often thoughtless. But they have reason. Leta Lestrange chose to do what she wanted to do because it’s what she thought was best for the both of them. Newt may not understand it but that’s what it was.

Leta is an odd creature but in the end, she’s human too.

-0-

Their N.E.W.T.s come and go.

Theseus had all but forced him into a spot in the Ministry, working a low-wage, eight-to-four job at the Office for House Elf Relocation. Newt felt a niggle of anger at that, having wanted to travel the world and learn instead of being tethered to a desk at a government body he didn’t even like that much.

“Tensions are rising between the muggles,” Theseus had reasoned in a soft tone. “There’s a war brewing out there, Newt. I don’t want you to get tangled in all of that. Think of this as… a way to gain experience. Work your way up to a position in a better part of the department. Save up money for when you travel.”

Newt could have done that faster than what his brother was implying. He and Lord Lestrange still have a cordial relationship despite- despite Leta. But Newt was wary of asking the Lord for any favors. The man wasn’t someone Newt would willingly be indebted to. Logic outweighs Newt’s desire to get out of a Ministry job as fast as possible.

So Newt listens to his brother, disgruntled but preferring to keep the semblance of peace in their tumultuous relationship. They’d never really had explosive arguments like what others seem to assume, or any argument for that matter. Sometimes Newt just feels… _cold_ , for the lack of a better term, and restless and irritable; he tends to avoid his brother during those times.

-0-

While life in the Wizarding world was relatively quiet, the declaration of war against the Central Powers still had its effect on the Ministry. The British Ministry of Magic, a government body entirely separate from His Majesty and mostly run by elitist purebloods, was put under pressure to respond to the call to arms. Most of the food items wizards bought were farmed by muggles, therefore the wizard economy dropped down at the same time as the muggles’s did.

Besides that, other countries had deployed magical attacks alongside their muggle weaponry, putting an end to the Ministry’s only reason not to participate.

Capable witches and wizards were drafted in and sent over to the front lines where magical attacks were reported. Everyone was cautious, careful not to let the muggles realize that they are there. Only the governments were truly aware of what else is happening.

Theseus jumps right into the fray but not before making Newt swear to stay away from the war.

And he did, diligently working in the Ministry and eventually gaining a promotion into the Beast Division not long after. Theseus sends letters, telling him how the battle is like, how many survived, and stories he hears from the others. Newt keeps them inside his old school trunk but doesn’t send anything more than a few words and trinkets he thinks are appropriate to give.

Newt worries, though.  For the people fighting for their lives, for the families losing their members, for his brother whose tendency to do anything he can to succeed puts him in more danger than he already is in. But he stays. Even though he knew he could help, that he is more than capable to defend his own country, Newt stays in the Ministry with a desk job he tolerates merely because it lets him save creatures who are mistreated by wizards and muggles alike.

That is, until he hears of the Ministry weaponizing dragons and training them in Romania.

-0-

Controlling, Newt muses, is never the way to go.

Predators have a way of seeing things. Anything smaller, _weaker_ , are prey. They are naturally inclined to see prey beneath them. They just _know_ that they are more powerful, more _dominating_ than them. And when prey becomes more dominating than them, they get _angry_.

Dragons are one such group of creatures. They are natural predators, born to grow strong and resilient against their own kind. It just so happens that they are run by instinct more than they are by rationality. They are intelligent creatures but against the conniving mind of a human—a human with _magic_ —they are understandably subdued.

So yes, controlling them in the way these wizards are is _not_ the way to go.

In Newt’s mind, these magnificent creatures belong to the sky, free to spread out their wings and raise their young, free to fight with each other as their instincts call for. Free of the iron chains and cages these _humans_ hold them in.

It fills him with fury as much as it fills him with fear.

The way these wizards treat them, the dragons are more liable to bite their heads off once they are free. And the Ministry wants the dragons to be used in the _war_ … they would sooner kill the poor creatures once they find out how unsuccessful they had been.

Newt is but one man. Even armed with magic and his knowledge, he can’t free more than a handful of full-grown, adult dragons— _Ukrainian Ironbellies_ —and expect everything to be a solved matter.  There would be pandemonium and chaos and it was more likely that the dragons would hurt themselves in the condition that they are in.

So Newt joins in as one of the Dragontamers (Newt curls his lip in distaste) under a different name, well aware that Theseus _cannot_ know what he plans to do.

-0-

It took months of hard work, some of which were done by trial and error, before Newt was confident he had gained the trust of each dragon. The other tamers had thought him odd for it (though some did try his methods, to varying states of success), most of them more interested in getting what the Ministry wanted them to do done.

Casualties were mounting high and the Ministry has been getting more and more impatient with their progress. Newt could care less about their impatience but knew better than to push them beyond what they have already given this little operation.

It had been days since Newt last heard from Theseus. The last he knew, they were organizing an offensive near Somme. It was worrying but Newt can’t afford to be distracted. The Ministry decided that it was time for them to do a trial run in the next coming days. Newt hardly has the time to worry about Theseus and his dragons at the same time.

-0-

War is… destructive.

Newt sees nothing but destruction and worn out citizens fighting to defend each other. Up in the sky, soaring overhead on a broom and Fifi—the least aggressive dragon in the reserve—beating her wings behind him, Newt could hardly make out any faces. Bodies lay all over the ground while others rallied to fight to death. It creates a terrible tableau.

Fifi hovers beside him, the two of them too high up to be seen even by enemy aircrafts.

“Let’s go girl.” Newt whispers regrettably, patting the dragon and then diving down.

They make a huge dent in the enemy forces but by then, their allies are already dwindling in number.

-0-

Because of the Statute, the dragons aren’t used frequently. Even with the glamours and illusions, it was simply too much of a risk.

When they are, it was a guaranteed manslaughter. A single offensive with three dragons had devastated the enemy forces enough for the allies to regain a couple of kilometers of land and creating a trench to hold them out (a feat that couldn’t otherwise be done in the Eastern Front) before the dragons had to be rounded up and led back to the reserve.

It’s a powerful move that could guarantee them the war but they hardly have any control over the dragons. Carrying out an offensive is more trouble than it was worth. Dragons don’t discriminate over what they attack and once allowed to fly, become too aggressive to properly chain back down.

Dragontamers had to get replaced pretty fast when that happens.

Talks of the operation becoming too risky start circulating.

Newt starts getting ready, already having predicted this outcome. But to his surprise, it doesn’t come. Not yet. Though they were being contacted less and less. Supplies also came farther in between. The reserve was in a remote area with little to no way of procuring supplies for _six_ full-grown dragons and a large group of adult men without anyone sending it out to them.

The Ministry had cut off the operation. Had _abandoned_ them.

Newt’s ire at the Ministry sparked into anger.

-0-

It all came to a head when the armistice had been written.

As soon as there was a guarantee to end the war, the Ministry ordered for the operation to be completely shut down.

Aurors—freshly pulled away from the magical front lines—came in to subdue and eliminate the dragons which were viewed to be a threat to the looming peace of the continents.

Newt had easily weakened each cage and chain that holds back the snarling, hungry dragons.

Chaos erupted once the dragons took to the air, breathing fire and sating their hunger. With the aurors too focused on the most obvious threat, Newt had barked at the remaining Dragontamers to leave because it had been apparent that the Ministry didn’t plan to keep them all alive.

Really, cutting off their supplies and expecting them to turn on their backs and expose their bellies. A secrecy vow would have sufficed in this situation. Newt was lucky he hadn’t given his real name when he had drafted in.

At the moment, though, Newt had to focus on keeping the dragons as safe as possible. Which means…

“ _Fiendfyre!_ ”

It took all his concentration to not let it form anything other than shapeless fire. In the confusion, the aurors would hopefully take it as another breath of fire from a dragon.

Controlling the curse in this way was much harder than controlling it in its more natural, favored form. Beads of sweat poured down his back, both because of the heat and the magnitude of the spell he’s using. He didn’t last long, cutting off the curse before he lost control.

Just like he suspected, the aurors were all too distracted by the angry dragons. He was satisfied to see that most of the dragons seem to be relatively uninjured.

Newt was about to fire off another curse but catches the eye of one of the aurors.

“ _Newt?!_ ”

His eyes widened, recognizing his own brother’s face covered in grime and dried blood.

_No, nonono he wasn’t supposed to be here!_

Newt sends a panicked glance around, fear bubbling up his throat seeing _his dragons_ tiring against the barrage of spells the wizards keep on sending them. Their forms are already emaciated; days without the proper food had weakened them. Newt had to help them! They’re just—

Fifi falls down before a heavily burnt witch, blood steadily pouring out of a deep gash down her side.

They’re _killing them!_

“Newt!”

“ _Confringo!_ ” Newt sent the curse into the witch.

“What are you doing?!”

Before Theseus could come nearer, Newt dissaparates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would liek to htank everybody who has supported this fic!!!!!!!! I honestly just posted this on impulse so it's really very much a WIP and I don't want to disappoint you guys. **I love all of you to bits! You are all precious little buggers!**
> 
> To those I haven't replied to yet, give me a sec lmao we just came back from an overseas trip and been procrastinating these/this.
> 
> Happy new year everyone!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That period after the war and right before the first movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh,,, hi (´ｖ｀) This was a b-i-t-c-h to write. It's a bit dialogue heavy (because I love writing dialogues sue me) on a few parts so feel free to gloss over those but ah, dialogue is still important, yeah? Yeah.
> 
> I'm actually glad things moved (will move?) on??? Cuz sometimes I fixate so much on one part it becomes monstrously long and then I just become lazy to write lmao.
> 
> Also we get to see daddy lestrange influence!!!

 

Newt doesn’t apparate far.

He appears right above the manmade escarpment that served as the reservation’s walls.

The mere thought of abandoning _his dragons_ to the whims of the ruthless, imbecilic hands of the Ministry tore at the very core of his being. But Theseus was _there_ and he had seen _him_. That couldn’t- _shouldn’t_ have happened. They may have been distant to each other but Theseus had made himself clear where this war had been concerned.

The Scamanders might not have been a family that followed tradition very closely but Theseus, as Newt’s older brother and Lord of their House, (tumultuous relationship or not) could easily dictate Newt’s life.

Newt could— _would_ —and _have_ defied his brother’s wishes already, this was no different. He would rather sacrifice his own freedom; suffer his brother’s anger than to _leave his dragons to die._

But he’s too _weak_ , now.

Casting the _fiendfyre_ had taken its toll on his energy. Even apparating for a second time would take everything he has left and even then, he might end up splinching himself.

Just like the dragons, they had been surviving off of scraps of food. And while they are better off than the creatures—who needed much, _much_ more than they do and had suffered greatly from the lack of proper food source—it had served to weaken them. Enough that had Newt not predicted the possibility of _this_ happening, there would have been significantly less tamers going home to their families.

Newt felt utterly _helpless_.

Against those aurors, against his brother and against the Ministry itself, Newt is too weak.

_What use can magic be if he could barely fire another spell?_

No amount of foolhardiness would change the inevitable outcome.

With every pain-filled roar that frighteningly echoed through the enclosure, Newt felt his heart break. With every creature that grew silent, Newt felt his hatred rise. Anguish burned deeply in his being just as grief quelled the rage into embers.

One by one, the dragons fell to the irreverent self-righteousness of wizards.

_What have they done to deserve this?_

War is destructive. But isn’t it _humans_ who create war?

-0-

“Newt, what were you _thinking?_ ” Theseus practically hissed, having finally cornered Newt a few days after the countries have signed the armistice. “I thought I told you to _stay away from the war!_ ”

Newt narrows his eyes, for the first time consumed and driven by anger and _sorrow and guilt and pain_. He spat, “They were _abusing_ _dragons_ to do their bidding. Unlike you, I am not the Ministry’s lapdog nor will I just let them _mistreat_ creatures they barely understand, _War Hero Theseus Scamander_.”

“So you _deliberately_ went against your word? That is _unlike you_!” Theseus is nearly screaming now, “Why can’t you understand that I’m doing everything to _keep you away_ from harm? You’re too young to be in any kind of battle! I let you pursue the career you wanted despite my opinion of it but that doesn’t mean you can just go gallivanting off to some corner of the world with _dragons!_ _Dragons!_ They are _dangerous_ , Newt! We lost an entire squad just putting them down even with the Ministry weakening them!”

Newt could have sworn his ears were ringing, all arguments dying at his tongue. “… _weakening them?_ ”

“They _had_ to!” Theseus let out an aggravated sigh. “The good it did. They should have done _more_. When I saw you there, I thought I was going to _lose you_. You were surrounded by their flames.”

“Should have done _more?”_ Newt felt his heart sink. All the rage he was working himself up to froze in his veins, leaving him numb and _cold_. He had been ready to forgive his brother, had been ready to let Theseus’s involvement go because Newt still loved him somehow and they had all been weary. But this… “Do you even know what they did?”

When Theseus didn’t answer, Newt looked away, unable to stand seeing his brother. “They cut off _all_ of our supplies. Without them, we didn’t have enough food for ourselves let alone the dragons. They left us to _starve-_ to _die_ , Theseus. For _months_ , we had to ration out everything we had and keep the dragons fed enough so that they won’t go on a rampage.”

The transition of fury into disappointment was dizzying. He didn’t even stumble over his words.

“Why didn’t you just- leave?” The tremble in Theseus’s voice was enough to appease what anger was left in Newt.

“And risk the breach of the Statute even more?” Newt’s lips pulled in disgust. It had been the same excuse Newt gave to his fellow tamers, something to keep them believing that what they are doing matters when some could care less about the dragons. “No, we can’t leave them like that. Without the Ministry’s explicit order to abandon the operation, we cannot leave the reservation.”

“I—” Theseus stopped, not knowing what to say.

Newt finally turned to look at his brother, lips quivering, not knowing whether to smile or frown. Theseus’s mouth is parted, a look of anguish and dawning horror etched upon his face.

“I gained their trust, Thee,” whispered Newt, becoming overwhelmed by the differing emotions that rushed through him. “I _swore_ to protect them. I did and I would have if you weren’t there.” It wasn’t condemnation, it was just a fact. Had Theseus not been there, Newt still wouldn’t have been able to save every creature. But he would have _fought_.

 _Would have_ …

Quite suddenly, he was engulfed in a hug. One that made Newt tense and uncomfortable but one that he knew was long overdue. Theseus had always been a hugger and Newt had always been successful in avoiding him.

Just this once, Newt doesn’t pull away.

A quiet “ _I’m sorry_ ,” was mumbled to his neck, this one more contrite, more sadness and guilt, more weary and tired than anything else. It’s a plea that Newt doesn’t know how to receive.

Newt closes his eyes, “I know.”

Anger still licked at the edges of his emotions, but for now he will back down.

He can’t change anything now. But maybe… _maybe_.

-0-

“Mister Newton Scamander?”

Newt halts in his steps, finding a body blocking his way. He peers up behind his fringe while fiddling with the files in his hands. “Yes?”

The man in front of him looked to be in his thirties, someone around the age of professor Dumbledore and seemed to be of the same bright disposition though he had on an air of a Ravenclaw. The human traffic they are causing in the middle of the hallway doesn’t seem to faze the man.

“I’m Augustus Worme,” He introduced, reaching out a hand in a handshake that Newt took. “I work under, ah, Obscurus Books.”

“That’s…” Newt thinks of a word, confused as to why this man introduced himself. “…lovely.”

“Yes, quite.” Mr. Worme cleared his throat. “Well, I would like to strike a deal with you.”

-0-

“You come highly recommended, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt pauses in preparing their tea and tilts his head, “By whom?”

“Oh, a couple of acquaintances.” Mr. Worme accepts the cup Newt floats over. “Ah thank you. I must admit, I was surprised when three of them suggested the same person. You impressed quite a lot of people, it seems. Including myself.”

Newt takes his seat, waving his wand to put away the clutter his small office had accumulated. His time away had made it fall into disuse and no one had thought to clean it up in his absence.

Once done, he directs his attention at the man in front of him, not bothering to hide his curiosity, “How would I have impressed you, Mr. Worme?”

“To have the praise of Albus Dumbledore is no small feat, young man.” Then, Mr. Worme smiles with a sly look on his face. “And to successfully tame dragons? Unbelievable!”

Newt stiffens and eyes the man warily. No one else but Theseus knew that.

“Oh don’t look at me like that! I’ve been there and saw you myself!” The man smiled wryly, eyebrows knitted in a slight frown. “Truly, what the Ministry did to those poor creatures was a heinous crime but it had been time of war.” Mr. Worme shrugged but Newt took it as the appeasement that it was.

But feeling the need to say it, Newt mumbles, “I didn’t ‘ _tame’_ them.”

Mr. Worme peers over at him with a curious look on his face before saying simply, “I suppose you didn’t, but people always _will_ suppose that you did.”

“Now, about the deal I would like to make.” Newt inclined his head and the man continued with a serious look. “I wish to commission you to write a book about creatures. There’s so few as it is and the way the Ministry treated those dragons just made me realize that we truly do not know much about them. We’ve lived together with these creatures for hundreds of years and yet all we know about them is how dangerous they are and what parts to use in a potion! A shame, really.”

Newt, to his credit, managed to restrain himself in his seat but his mind has already gone to think of all the _possibilities_ this opportunity presented. The prospect honestly made him feel giddy. “And what does it entail?”

Mr. Worme nods, pleased to have been spared any more cajoling. “You are, of course, free to decide how you would go about making your research. I do urge you to travel the world, see the sights, gain knowledge first hand. With the lack of proper references, information will be hard to come by. You will be given a monthly stipend for the entire duration of your research as well as a separate allowance for your lodgings and transportation. All you have to do is to update me with your research once in a while and, eventually, compile what you have learned into a book.”

“That’s…”

“Too good to be true?” Mr. Worme smirked at Newt’s hesitant nod. “I will not lie. It is dangerous. No one has done it precisely because of this and only you will be liable for your safety. But you are a highly capable wizard, are you not?” Here, the sly look on his face came back. “Neither do we have enough money for this kind of research but now, someone has come forward to be our benefactor in this endeavor. And he specifically asked for _you_.”

Newt frowned, more thoughtful than wary. “I don’t suppose you would divulge their name?”

“It’s of no consequence for you to know, Mr. Scamander,” Mr. Worme waved his hand in dismissal. “But that information must be kept secret so as not to let bad publication precede it before we even come to an agreement.”

 _Bad publication?_ That is certainly an interesting way of putting it. He only knew of one person who would gain such a description. But he does wonder why…

“Would it be bold of me to assume that it is Lord Lestrange?”

Mr. Worme blinked, startled but slowly nods. “Yes, quite. You know each other?”

“I attended Hogwarts in the same year as his daughter.” As if it answered the question. In a way, it does.

“Yes, well, they don’t have the kind of reputation anyone would want to have in their business unless they cater to the other side of the law. At least, publically speaking. Many independent businesses are run by wealthy families and not all of them have clean records.” Mr. Worme shakes his head and sips at his tea. “It is strange, though, that a man like he would suddenly take an interest in magical creatures of all things. But that is not my business to know.”

Newt stares at the rim of his cup, mind impossibly silent at being presented something he had only _dreamed of_ for years. With him and Theseus still at tight odds and a terse conversation away from another argument, Mr. Worme (and, ironically, Lord Lestrange) presents an attractive case that doesn’t seem to be any sort of loss to Newt.

It would also serve the purpose of freeing him from the suffocating ties of the Ministry. Not to mention the sapling of a plan his mind has subconsciously formed.

“I’ll do it.”

Mr. Worme pauses, teacup pressed to his lips.

Newt nods decisively. “I would like to take the deal, Mr. Worme.” It wasn’t even really a hard decision.

Mr. Worme laughs good-naturedly and puts down his cup. “I don’t know why I even doubted that you would accept. I look forward to what you will bring me, Mr. Scamander.”

 “Newt, please. Mister Scamander is my brother.”

“Ah, then feel free to call me Augustus, young man.”

Newt smiles into his tea, anticipation and contentment buzzing under his skin.

Yes, this seems to be a step in the right direction.

-0-

When all was said and done, the application for his travelling documents took a few weeks to settle. Normally, it would have taken only a few days but with the aftermath of the war, securities were tightened all over the world and crossing from one country to another requires even _more_ paperwork than before.

Meanwhile, Newt readily hands in his resignation to his division head and packs away his things. The Ministry’s Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is fairly large but stretched thin between bureaucracy and abusive use of muggle-repelling charms. They put much more focus in keeping the muggles away than actual regulation.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be the state of business once Newt returns. Already, some changes were being made but it would take a significant amount of power to persuade those who can actually make the changes.

With his resignation and impeding departure, it was inevitable that Theseus would be alerted of his plans.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Theseus sighed and smiles wryly at the shocked look on Newt’s face, so certain that his older brother would be against him leaving to venture off into parts unknown. “I don’t want to part ways with this tension hanging over our heads. I just- I worry about you and sometimes I forget you’re a capable wizard.”

In a movement that Newt absently thinks he would probably miss with how much the other does it, Theseus pulls him in a hug. “Take care of yourself, little brother.”

It doesn’t mend their relationship, but it was enough to dispel the lingering animosity between them.

With Leta…

Newt hasn’t seen her since they graduated at Hogwarts and felt that any sort of communication now would not have been taken kindly. But despite his initial misgivings, Newt sends a short note, neglecting to say anything but the fact that he will be leaving England.

It seems to have served its purpose to be the closure Newt needed. Leta had always been an open wound he refused to acknowledge, one that had healed wrong and left a scar. It ached from time to time but now, with his own form of short goodbye (equally as unfair and sudden as hers), Newt felt that he could look back to their relationship without fear of bitterness creeping in.

Then, in the winter of 1918, with a suitcase filled with clothes and essentials, Newt Scamander starts his journey as a magizoologist.

-0-

At first, he doesn’t go far.

He travelled to the countryside of England, figuring that with his lack of practical experience, it would be better for him to start at his homeland than immediately braving foreign lands. This decision proved to be for the best once he realized that to travel all over the world, he must be able to blend in with the muggles.

Even though he was more experienced than the common pureblood, the difference in culture—world, really—is enough to garner strange looks. Something Newt wanted to avoid at all costs. He would rather be another figure in the crowd than the strange not-foreigner.

It’s a bit of a step back, learning all those new customs and what to do and what _not_ to do in the presence of muggles; how to use the different common muggle contraptions, and getting used to the slower ways of travel that took _days_ before arriving where he wanted to be.

But Newt is nothing but adaptable.

So he took it all in stride, observing and acclimating to a new world.

-0-

The first few weeks of his travels involved getting to know _muggles_ than actual studying of magical creatures. It was of no consequence, really, since the winter is harsh on these parts and Newt found himself a bit ill-prepared for this kind of weather. He’d sooner die out in the forests than be of actual use.

Settling in small muggle establishments in towns and villages before he even starts to think of his own research, Newt observes the people with keen eyes and ears.

The difference in the way of thinking between a magical and non-magical human was equal parts astounding and alarming.

Without magic to guide them in everyday life, muggles are forced to think more creatively and innovatively as compared to their inflexible magical counterparts. Oh, they are not quite on par with what magic can do but for them to create these ‘technologies’…

Newt remembers the war. The destruction and blood shed with only the weapons the muggles have come up with.

No, they aren’t defenseless. They can be just as dangerous as witches and wizards. Perhaps more so, given enough time. Change and progress doesn’t seem to be an issue with these muggles.

But there is one thing Newt thinks the muggles had over the witches and wizards.

Science.

It’s their own type of magic; one that discovers everything they can think of in a systematized and organized way. One that made it possible for them to create their ‘technology’.

This, however distasteful its results can be, is the ideal way to go about his own research.

-0-

Once suitably acclimatized to the more common muggle ways, he soon starts to venture out of the British Isles, going in no particular pattern.

By this time, he’d grown confident in his ability to blend in and survive and had become more eager to explore and discover. Oh, he had his hands full and attention focused with studying magical creatures, but he loved _every single moment of it_.

 _This_ is what he had been missing. _This_ is what he had always wanted to do. As a young child, he _knew_ this.

Being tethered down into the Ministry had made him forget what it truly feels like to be _free_.

His childhood was just a taste, his time at Hogwarts the thing that put the tether in place.

Here, there was no one telling him what to do. There was no law he has to be terribly mindful of. No immediate danger he had to take care of. No humans to always be incredibly wary of. Here, it was just him and the creatures and the various things he does to get to them (like how dressing in blue seems to make the more predatory creatures pause and has then been a cause for Newt to buy a dashing blue coat off of some muggle cart in Belarus).

And, when the time came, the various ways of taking down poachers and traffickers who _dare_ _threaten_ _and_ _hurt_ these magnificent creatures.

-0-

He first encounters one of them while on the lookout for a couple of what may be an involvement Red Caps that the villagers swore to be vengeful spirits.

The spirits made loud noises when disturbed, they say. Inhuman and angry; a dissonance of sound of various beasts that run howling with pain and hatred against the people. It’s odd and nothing like Newt had ever encountered before.

He brings his suitcase, seeing as the village was too small to have lodgings available for travelers like him.

Newt had just arrived at the site where local legends said that a small tribe met their end at the hands of invading bandits when he caught wind of the sound of apparation. He hides, mumbling a disillusionment charm over himself and follows the sounds of shuffling footsteps and conversation.

For a pair of wizards that seem to be sneaking around, they make an awful lot of noise.

They talked in a foreign language Newt hasn’t encountered yet but that is easily solved by another mumbled spell.

“-mundane lands. They remain clueless, I assure you.” The tall and stocky one said. His clothes are nondescript for a wizard.

“Of course. I chose to come to you because you work alone yet efficiently. It would have been a shame for someone of your repute to make such a mistake, Mr. Krajnc.” This one is definitely older, his hair slicked down with salt and pepper strands. His robes are more extravagant and of obvious great quality. A noble, then. “Now, where is the product? I wish to see it.”

Tall and stocky nodded in a subdued manner. “Of course. This way.”

They walk on and Newt only moves once the sound of their footsteps disappeared. Whatever the two wizards had been talking about roused Newt’s curiosity.

He looks around, almost giving up until he sees an unassuming tent.

Now, if he hadn’t known that he followed two _wizards_ , Newt would have ignored its presence. As it stands, magic is capable of many things, including tents that are bigger on the inside. Witches and wizards could have mansions inside a rolled up piece of cloth and a couple of wooden beams. Something that is very convenient for travelling now that Newt was reminded of the possibility.

He was curious and apprehensive of what kind of business the two wizards were talking about. In a place isolated from civilization, no less. Newt doesn’t always believe in those gut feelings he had always heard about, but this seems awfully suspicious.

So he waits. He could always start going over some of his notes while at it.

A few minutes, maybe half an hour, later, Newt was alerted to the emergence of the wizards by the tent flap opening.

Well, not wizard _s_. Only the noble came out, wand in hand and looking irritated.

And then for a brief moment, their eyes met.

Mismatched eyes glinted with anger and something else and then Newt was watching his features melt into someone else’s. Transfigure into or transfigure back, Newt was unsure, but the other wizard’s gaze struck him into a visceral reaction of backing away.

 _Danger_ , his mind screamed.

But then the wizard’s face became stoic and he apparated away.

Left alone now, Newt is unnerved by the sudden quiet. He stands there, staring at where the wizard had been. The natural sounds of the forest returned and Newt finally managed to collect himself. Newt was no slouch when it came to casting the disillusionment charm and he had been seen. Whoever that was, Newt would make sure he doesn’t stand in their way.

-0-

When the other wizard, Mr. Krajnc, didn’t emerge from the tent, Newt shuffles over and enters, feeling no ward or spell holding him back from doing so.

He wasn’t wrong when he assumed the tent to be bigger inside. In fact, it was large and filled with crates of different sizes that are arranged neatly. There were shelves, too, stocked with jars and bottles of various shape and size.

Newt doesn’t focus on the body splayed on the ground because there was simply no _way_ he could have when there was a cacophony of growls and screeches, yowls and whistles coalescing into a harsh, enraged noise.

They were so _loud_ Newt could hardly identify which was which.

Staring at down at Mr. Krajnc, he could only conclude that the wards and enchantments must have fallen along with the man.

Needless violence had always been something Newt loathed but this once, he thinks it might be more than deserved.

-0-

With so many creatures to take care of, the dangerous wizard easily slips from his mind.

The creatures are in varying degrees of health; some are uninjured and had only been in captivity for a short time, some are wounded and had obviously been caught in a trap. Then there are those Newt had been too late to save.

He did what he can, but the sight of jars filled with body parts taken from animals (some of which are labeled unicorn blood and manticore tail) made him feel ill and regretful that Mr. Krajnc died with the killing curse. He deserved more.

Mr. Krajnc, he found out, used to be a supplier of _exotic_ animals, both alive and chopped up parts. He had himself a nice setup where his clients had to seek _him_ out. There should be a list of contacts somewhere—as it is an obvious thing to conclude—but Newt found nothing of the man’s notes.

And that left Newt with fizzling anger and an inability to do something against this type of thing happening.

-0-

Agitated creatures are hard to approach, all the more so when they are injured. Newt is aware of this but found himself with no choice. Everyone there is spitting angry and extremely distrustful of humans. It’s a painful learning curve that challenged everything he knew, but Newt is absolutely _determined_.

What’s a few new scars when he can help those creatures?

The solution in easing the creatures’s agitation came in the form of creative use of magic. Newt rearranged the interior of the tent, setting up spaces for each possible habitat to provide, at least, something familiar.

Luckily, most of them are natives in the nearby forests and bodies of water or had habitats that suited their current location just fine. He frees those who are able to survive in the wild and heals those that need to be healed.

He apparates all over the place, purchasing ingredients when he ran out of potions, gathering those that he can from places he remembered grew that particular plant. Food, he easily acquired from the forest when his own stock ran out.

The tent remained his base for the weeks that took to heal the last of the creatures, even acquiring the shocking but very much welcomed assistance of a young demiguise.

His problem, in the end, lies in transporting the few creatures that were unsuited to the country’s climate and the fewer creatures unable to survive even in their own habitat. Newt didn’t want them to be stuck in another cage while he travels on foot.

-0-

“What do you think, Dougal?” Newt asked the demiguise curiously poking at Newt’s (failed) attempt at recreating a tree using transfiguration. “How do we get them back to their homes? Portkeys are out of the question. I don’t think there’s enough permits for all of you.”

Dougal the demiguise tilts his head before clambering down the disfigured tree. Newt watches in bemusement as the demiguise searched through his things and triumphantly pulls out his suitcase. The creature proudly presented it to him and Newt accepts it with a fond thank you.

But what can he do with his suitcase?

He stares down at it. It’s a battered thing, the leather barely kept to its original color. Months of travelling wore it down with a few scratches and dents here and there from when he had been careless and hit it on things.

“Oh, that wouldn’t do,” Newt traced the worst of the gouges. “ _Reparo_.” It mended itself up, tears magically sewing back together, dents popping back out to its original shape, the leather losing some of its battered sheen. Inspecting his work, Newt nodded in satisfaction when he found no more damage. He hadn’t even noticed how worn his suitcase had become.

It’s some sort of congratulatory gift. A day before he left Britain, an owl had delivered it with only a note attached to it, congratulating and bidding him good luck in his journey. Though there was no name written on it, Newt had become familiar enough with the handwriting in the seven years he attended Hogwarts.

It came in very handy with its Extension Charm, allowing him to fit in quite a lot of things, even himself when he had to hide from a bunch of soldiers doing their rounds (it had been a bit of a fit considering the amount of parchment he had; he really ought to compile everything in a journal). A thank-you gift of some sort for the professor certainly is long overdue—

“My suitcase!” Newt exploded in an ‘ _aha!’_ moment. The Augurey squawked from its perch of bramble and thorns. Newt patted Dougal’s head. “Well, no time to waste then. I’m sure everyone’s anxious to get away from this tent.”

-0-

Now, Newt travels around with his suitcase of creatures.

It served as both his home and the home for creatures that need to recuperate before he releases them back into the real world. He painstakingly replicated their natural habitats to the best of his ability, creating bogs, hills, deserts, mountains, pocket bubbles of water for the aquatic creatures, and several others. It changes from time to time when a creature is released and a new one takes its place.

There are some creatures he keep for further study, like the swooping evil that refused to leave him or the niffler that somehow managed to sneak into the case. Some seem to be permanent residents. Newt always felt sorrow for those, lingering in their enclosures whenever he does his rounds.

It’s his own sanctuary.

The suitcase quickly became his prized possession, guarding it jealously and heaping it with strengthening and protective charms, taking a leaf out of the Lestrange family heirlooms that ward away unwanted hands by causing quite a bit of pain. Even with those, Newt takes care to position it behind him when he walks. A tiny blubber with muggle authorities had him install the lock that hides its contents with muggle worthy items.

He takes a more active role in putting an end to the traffickers and poachers he encounters.

Newt is usually mild-mannered and prefers to observe before acting with logical reasoning but seeing those _beasts_ mishandling the creatures reignites the cool fury and _fear_ that had become his constant companion during the time of war. It leaves him trembling with rage and fear and guilt that he would once again have to leave them to _die_.

 _Newt can never let them hurt creatures again_.

So he puts an end to them.

Makes them see that their actions have consequences.

After all, no one else will do it for those creatures.

-0-

Newt was in Greece, hoping to find a chimaera or a manticore, when he received the letter.

He and professor Dumbledore kept correspondence over the years, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor a persistent and persuasive writer capable of somehow making Newt write back. Theseus’s letter when he had been promoted as Head Auror still remained unreplied months after being received.

The magizoologist grins as he read the letter, composed mostly of flowery words he delighted on deciphering and restructuring into a backhanded insult to his former professor. But this time, the letter contained something more.

Greece won’t be gone even if he left for Egypt now.

-0-

The illegal trafficking ring that held Frank, a magnificent thunderbird that _shouldn’t_ have been chained, quickly learned their lesson.

Newt was a vicious fighter when he wanted to be.

But now, now he had to take Frank back to his home.

(Even if on his way, he encountered a young girl persecuted by her village because of her magic. Even if, on his way, Newt dedicated much time studying the _parasite_ that her village created in her so that _he could prevent it from happening again_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First contact: (｀ω´) check. 
> 
> And Newt has unhealthy coping mechanisms. Don't be like Newt, guys. Talk about it with other people so that they can help you come to terms with your trauma. It tends to come out in the weirdest, most dangerous ways. -Me, a freshman student who has next to no experience in life.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment and tell me what you think! ~~(is this thing acceptable oh god idk what im doing anymore)~~
> 
> follow me on... [twitter](https://twitter.com/xenafeog) or [tumblr](https://sineluce-velius-tristitia.tumblr.com/)?


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